


Hermione Granger and the Easy Way Out

by BathildaBuckshot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Department of Mysteries, F/M, Gallows Humor, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Memory Alteration, Memory Magic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Punk Rock, Relationship Problems, Time Shenanigans, Time Travel, Time Turner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-13 06:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13565022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BathildaBuckshot/pseuds/BathildaBuckshot
Summary: “You’re drunk,” said Ron to the unceremonious pop in their living room that signaled her arrival, “You really shouldn’t have Apparated.” His voice was eerily calm.“Ronald Bilius Granger-Weasley, I have had a long, arduous day at the Ministry. How dare you start making such baseless accusations before I even get a chance to say hello?”...Being an Unspeakable is not what Hermione expected. On top of it all, her marriage is falling apart. Can a new adventure bring her and Ron back together, and maybe help a few more friends in the process?Updates Saturdays, Merlin willing.





	1. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione Granger discovers how much she likes firewhiskey. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first multi-chapter fanfic. I have the first 10 chapters drafted and waiting for edits. It has gone in many directions that I was not prepared for it to go, so be ready.  
> Thanks to ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓, my beta. He doesn't have a AO3 account yet, so I'm not mentioning his name. He's just a little ghost right now.  
> As much as I love ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓, I love comments more. Don't tell him!
> 
> ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ willing, I will update on Saturdays. Maybe more often if I feel some love?
> 
> It's Jk's world, I just play in it*
> 
>  
> 
> *and spend copious amounts of money on official licensed products

Hermione Granger was not drunk. That was something that other Unspeakables became at the end of a long...day? Just one? Gosh, she still hadn’t adjusted back to this time stream after the altered one her project in The Department of Mysteries necessitated. 

She was no stranger to time travel or peril. She had been in some form of mortal peril since she entered the wizarding world, and she had used time travel for an entire school year not long after. The war itself had not led her to drink, and her new schedule was just more of the same. So no, she thought, absently fingering the list in her robe pocket, this was just a casual drink at The Leaky Cauldron to unwind before picking up the potion ingredients that she had forgotten when shopping for Rose’s new term at Hogwarts that had just started the previous week. 

_ Forgotten _ . Hermione Granger had never forgotten anything. That was Ron’s perview. Or had been. Ever since her promotion the previous year, Ron seemed to be full of questions like “Did you remember to water the garden like you said you would?” “Did you remember to pick up Rose’s birthday gift?” “Did you remember we were going to The Burrow tonight?” But no matter, she would owl the ingredients in the morning, along with replacements for the ingredients Rose had had to borrow. That was certainly not why she was drinking, she thought as she slowly turned the empty glass, watching the way the low bar light refracted through the cut crystal, spinning a radiant flower of beams on the ancient tabletop. She had simply discovered that she quite liked the taste of firewhiskey. Ginny collected fine bottles of the stuff. It was perfectly normal, and even respectable, for Hermione to indulge in the top shelf pours her new salary enabled her to afford. 

The room swooned a little when she stood up to pay Tom for the drink. Well, drinks. Hermione did not swoon, of course. As an Unspeakable, she knew the right wandless incantations to keep herself together, or at least look that way from the outside,but not because she was drunk; because she had to keep so many secrets. She walked to the familiar brick wall with perfect poise, her wand steady when she tapped bricks in the right order to make the alleyway appear. Her lips thinned into a detached smile when she reflected on just how mundane this marvel had become to her.

Gringotts, a quick trip to Slug and Jiggers, and then the post office: She could do this. Her eyes trailed lazily toward the Wizarding bank and she let out a laugh at how the dizzying effect of the firewhiskey actually made everything in crooked alley look straighter and less confusing. 

Shit.

She was drunk.

She muttered the appropriate incantations under her breath. Not to sober her up, of course. If she was in this state, she may as well enjoy it. But to an outside observer, she walked briskly and determinedly through the wizarding bank’s grand doors, heels clacking smartly on the marble floor. She marched up to the goblin teller to presented the key to her vault, wearing what she hoped was a polite, disinterested smile to both of them as they swayed back and forth, eyeing her sharply.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Granger-Weasley,” the Goblin informed her, “but I have been specifically instructed not to allow you access to your vault when you are under the influence of alcohol.”

Outrage flamed onto Hermione’s face and radiated through her body. She could feel it start to drip in her armpits.

“I don’t know what you are talking about!” she exclaimed. Her incantations were perfect. She should look fresh as a springtime flutterby bush.

“Mrs. Granger-Weasley, we know that as an Unspeakable you are privy to spells that even our security features cannot detect, which is why your husband specifically informed us that you never take the time to tame your hair after a long day of work unless you are trying to hide the fact that you’ve been drinking.”

She was going to  _ murder _ Ron.

“But I have to purchase ingredients for my daughter’s potions class,” she protested lamely.

“This far into term? Really, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, you reputation must be greatly exaggerated if you expect me to believe that. Shall I floo your husband to come pick you up?”

“No, that’s alright,” she said, sobering a little. She did not want him to show up and cause another scene. “I’ll head home myself. Your discretion in this matter would be greatly appreciated,” she added.

The goblin pursed his lips noncommittally and sent her on her way with a jab of his finger toward the door. He was sure that  _ Mr.  _ Granger-Weasley would learn of her activities soon enough on his own.

Back in the swirl of the alley, she pulled out the list. Surely she could pick up the ingredients on credit. After all, the list was actually a letter that she had told Ron she would owl when she got to work so that she could simply pick the ingredients up on her way home. It had their Gringotts vault number on it and everything. Ron had eyed her suspiciously when she proposed this plan, wondering why they couldn’t just have everything owled directly to Hogwarts, but she argued that some of the ingredients were volatile enough that it could be dangerous to send them through the air without taking proper precautions.

“For a second year potions class?” he’d questioned. She’d simply given her patented  _ really-Ron-did-you-not-listen-to-the-lecture _ eyes, and her bluff had worked. Sadly, lying was the one weakness that her position at The Department of Mysteries had truly honed into a skill.

Hermione Granger had been good at two things: school and war. School was easy: she was naturally curious and in her element when required to learn as many things as possible. War was harder. She had to make sacrifices and keep secrets and fight. She had applied to The Department of Mysteries for a research internship. Though she had many job offers after the war, and many causes she still wanted to fight for, the position seemed like it would be a nice break from all of the attention and excitement. Unfortunately, the position was far too much like school. Even the vow of secrecy that she had to keep was well within her comfort zone with all of the mischief, war-related and not, that she had gotten into in her school years. Besides, her friends had never been that interested in listening to her scholastic discoveries anyway, so who would she tell? So when her internship was up and she was offered an official position, it simply seemed like graduating to the next grade and becoming a prefect. She was so comfortable with the ease of climbing ladders and impressing her superiors with actual  _ skills _ rather than relying on her war reputation that she hardly noticed when the secret keeping and sacrifices started to more closely resemble the skills she had gained in war. The night that her panic attacks returned, it was already too late. 

War had been easier than this. For all of its uncertainty, she knew that, even if she lost, war had an end. Her job was an endless cycle. After each disaster was fixed and problem was solved, she would just have to manage another one. She could not leave. She knew too much about how the Department of Mysteries kept its secrets, how the governing laws of the Wizengamot and the greater Ministry seemed to bend around it as though it were enchanted. She was deep enough that her war hero status would offer her little protection. Besides, she had two children to provide for. Ron had taken to working part time at his brother’s joke shop so that he could spend more time with the children, and she hated the thought of keeping Hugo from his father during the day so that Ron could go back to full-time employment.

When she reached the door of Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, her hands were shaking.  _ Side effect of the Cruciatus Curse, _ she thought. She was certainly not upset; her Occlumency had gotten too good for her to feel such emotions in public. She had definitely remembered to put up her shields. She was  _ the _ Hermione Granger-Weasley, after all.

“Ah, Mrs. Granger-Weasley,” the counter clerk said. “Your husband said you might come by.”

“Yes,” she said cheerfully, her inebriation preventing her from recognizing the gravity of the statement. “I had meant to owl ahead so that I might pick up the ingredients, but I quite forgot and just brought the list with me instead.”

“No need,” said the clerk. “Your husband came by this afternoon and got everything. You really needn’t have worried about the the owls transporting puffer fish eyes. We have charmed the packaging so that it is quite impossible to for them to leak.”

“Oh,” she said, definitely not feeling a building rage and embarrassment because her Occlumency shields were definitely in place. “I wish he had owled me.”

“I believe he did,” said the clerk apologetically, “but it was only an hour and a half ago, so it might not have gotten to the ministry in time. That is why he left me with the message.

She nodded and clenched her jaw. Discreetly. The proprietors of the shop really should look into the crackling noise that seemed to be building in the room.

 “You seem upset,” said the clerk, concerned and a little fearful, knowing the reputation of the witch in front of him.

 “I’m fine,” she growled. “Thank you. Since there is apparently nothing else for me to do, I suppose I shall head home.” Before the clerk could say anything else, she Disapparated with far too loud of a pop.

 “Well, that could have gone worse,” he said, stepping around the counter to pick up the herbs and vials that had rattled off of the shelves from the shockwaves of Hermione’s Disapparation.

 

…

 

“You’re drunk,” said Ron to the unceremonious pop in their living room that signaled her arrival. “You really shouldn’t have Apparated.” His voice was eerily calm.

“Ronald Bilius Granger-Weasley, I have had a long, arduous day at the Ministry. How dare you make such baseless accusations before I even get a chance to say hello?”

Ron just looked at her with a pointed, Hermione-esque look.

“Are we really going to do this right now, Ron?” she said. “It has been weeks since I’ve even had a drink, and I really don’t want to have this conversation around Hugo.”

“I sent Hugo to The Burrow,” Ron said quietly, “and it hasn’t been weeks. We went through this exact same thing yesterday.”

Yesterday? He had to be bluffing. That conversation had been ages ago. Why, just last night she had… she had…

Come to think of it, when was the last time she had been home? It felt like months. She looked at Ron’s disapproving face and was suddenly struck by the fact that he was not a photograph, but here, in the room, in the flesh. He was taller than she had remembered, and something about his movements, as upset as he looked, were more beautiful than the memories of him that she had been using to soothe her loneliness.

“You’re here,” she whispered, reality crashing into her all at once. “you're really here!” And she felt her eyes well up with tears as she closed the small distance between them and collapsed into his arms, sobbing.

“This isn't going to work again, Hermione,” he said coolly. “You did this yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. You can't keep coming home all piss-drunk and expecting me to melt every time you turn make your eyes go all  _ Agumenti _ .”

“I know,” she said, “I know. I’m sorry. I just… I can't…”

Ron softened. Like he always did. And he hated himself for it.

“Merlin, ‘Mione, what are they making you do in that department?”

She just sobbed, and he gave in and wrapped his arms around her.

“I know, I know you can't tell me. But this is getting bad, and I can't help if I don't know what's wrong.”

Hermione said nothing. It wasn't just that she wasn't allowed to tell Ron about the project; she honestly didn't remember a lot of the details. Or, well, now that she was here, any of them. The enchantments surrounding it were proximal oblivates, so that the further the researchers were from the… artifact? Place? itself, the more difficult it was to grasp any memories surrounding it. But the closer one got, the sharper the memories became, to the point that when working on the project? itself, all relevant memories were near photographic. The enchantments were actually of Hermione’s own invention and a big part of what led to her promotion. She was pretty sure the project had something to do with time as well, but in this moment she wasn’t certain because the effects on memory could be enough to drastically alter her sense of time.

What she did know was that something was going horribly wrong. While her mind could not remember any events, her body could remember trauma, and she found herself lashing out or shrinking back in fear in response to triggers she didn't understand.

But she couldn't tell Ron this.

“It's okay,” she sniffed after a bit, pulling back. “I'll be okay.”

“That’s what you've been saying, ‘Mione, but you've just not been yourself and, frankly, I'm scared. Hugo is scared. This isn't like you. Do you remember what I told you last night?”

_ Last night? Which night was last night? _

“You don’t, do you. Hugo is already at The Burrow and I’m going to stay with him. I’m sorry it’s come to this, but you can’t tell me what’s wrong, you won’t let me tell Harry, you won’t talk to your bosses, and we’ve just established that you won’t find a way to deal with it that isn’t getting piss drunk and causing a scene.”

Images crackled into Hermione’s memory of an altercation. Or was it an intervention? Was that last night? It seemed so long ago. So far away.

“No, Ron,” she heard herself saying. “You can’t. You can’t leave me like this!”

Ron looked at her, pained. Resigned. Why wasn’t he yelling? This was Ron. He had a temper. Had this really been going on for so long?

“I love you, ‘Mione,” he said, sadly. He stepped into the floo, and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Hermione. Poor Ron. I sure hope this isn't the end for them. But who knows? I know. You can too! Stay tuned!


	2. The Department of Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get a peek behind those Proximal Obliviate charms that Hermione so cleverly invented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ wasn't able to beta for me this week. I went over it best I could, but I apologize for any glaring errors. I just wanted to make sure that I was able to keep with my "Updates Saturdays" promise. I'll have him or someone else look over it and put up the fixes later. Also its kind of short? Maybe I'll post Chapter 3 midweek to make up for that if ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ or someone has time to look at it.
> 
> As with the last chapter, JK's world, I just play in it, give official Harry Potter stuff money because it can never have enough. Never. FEED IT!
> 
> *2/24 MINOR EDITS*  
> So another friend looked over this chapter and sent me some edits. I made most of them. She made some good points about some shifts in the voice of the narrative that happen between the first and second chapters, but I didn't do much to fix it on that front. I know that is a problem between a lot of my chapters. I think I need to finish the whole work to figure out which voice best serves the story. Thanks for being my guinea pigs, y'all.

Hermione swallowed hard and made her way into the tall double doors that had swung open before her.

“Have a seat, Hermione,” said her supervisor, ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.

Hermione declined and slammed a thin golden folder onto ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓’s desk. The force with which it hit the surface suggested that it was enchanted to hold far more than its form suggested.

“There is a problem with my Proximal Oblivate charms that we really need to address before we go forward with the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ project.”

“Yes, I know. You’ve been reporting this to me everyday for the past two months. Did you not get my memo to wait in holding for two hours and then arrive here on time by time turner?”

“Yes, but this really couldn’t wait.”

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ put her hands on her face, not believing she was having this conversation. Again. “That is precisely why I wanted you to arrive by time turner.”

“I mean I couldn’t wait,” Hermione said.

“What is it this time?” ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ breathed, rubbing her temples.

“Ron left with Hugo last night.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are. Now will someone please get their head out of their ass because I am about to lose my husband and child despite the fact that I apparently have been reporting these problems with the charm for the past two months!”

“Hermione,” ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ said, “We’ve been trying. Just go to the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓, wait for a couple of hours, and Time Turner your way back here. Maybe use one of the hours to get some sleep. What’s happening will all come back to you.”

 

It pained ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ to go through this act with the younger woman every morning, each morning hearing a worse problem had afflicted Hermione the night before. No one in The Department of Mysteries with Hermione’s level of clearance was still married. Relationships didn’t seem to survive the levels of secrecy the Unspeakables were forced to keep. Hermione had simply been brilliant and the skills she had gained in the war had allowed her to rise through the ranks fast enough that her relationship didn’t notice the strain. Not at first. It had not occurred to ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ that, while Hermione was more than intellectually ready for her high-ranking level as an Unspeakable, her life circumstances might not make the job the best fit. Every department in the Ministry coveted the employ of the third member of the Golden Trio and ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ rather loved rubbing it in the Auror Department’s face that Hermione had not chosen them. By the time ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ did notice, it was already too late. Hermione knew too much.

A few minutes later, a far more subdued Hermione Granger-Weasley stepped through ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓’s door.

“Better, Hermione?” ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ said wryly.

Hermione looked up at her superior with haunted eyes.

“Do you want to continue our previous conversation about fixing you Proximal Oblivate charm?”

“No,” Hermione said.

“Are you sure? It really does pain me to see the strain this is putting on your relationship.”

Hermione suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She knew that this was a rote response brought on by the Ministry’s mandatory empathy training that HR implemented as part of the post-war rebuilding.

“No,” said Hermione, “You and I both know the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ takes priority over some silly mix-up with a charm.”

“It isn't silly. I do care. But I am glad that we are in agreement that unless ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ is solved, there will be no families left for anyone to remember or forget.”

Hermione nodded. In the cold, sober light of her returned memories, her more dangerous emotions locked tight behind her Occlumenical shields, she knew that whatever misery she felt in the haze of forgetfulness in the outside world, it was far better and safer than the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ she was about to face in the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ in the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ of the ministry. And she had to hand it to HR, the crumb of her supervisor’s compulsory empathy scripts was better than total emotional starvation. She would make it up to her family later.

“Well,” ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ continued, “if this conversation is quite over, then I need you to report to ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ immediately for the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓. Were you able to complete the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ yesterday evening as requested?”

“Yes, of course. It's reaction to the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ worked better than expected. Today I plan to test the ▓▓▓▓▓ with ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ and hopefully it will have the desired effect on the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓. ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓’s theory on ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ suggests…” Hermione realized that she was starting to ramble. ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ cared about results, not theory. She would have plenty of time to discuss theory with ▓▓▓▓▓▓ below in the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.

“I mean to say, I have it on good authority that this phase should work.”

“Good girl. Then I’ll leave you to it.”

Hermione nodded stiffly and made her way out the door.

“Hermione?”

Hermione turned back to look at her supervisor. ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ hesitated.

“Be careful,” she said quietly. The edge in her voice almost didn't sound compulsory.

“Always!” said Hermione, with a smile that both knew she didn't feel.

 

…

 

Hermione exited the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ and made her way down to the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓. Even her Occlumency shields could not stop her hand from shaking as it reached up to grab the ▓▓▓▓▓▓. It was a physical response to the strain of her fingers, exhaustion borne from so many months of fear. The low, ominous humming that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere did little to help.

Just a little longer.

“Ah, good morning, Hermione!” ▓▓▓▓▓▓ greeted. When she had started working for the department, ▓▓▓▓▓▓’s eerie cheerfulness had disturbed her. Now it was just part of the white noise in her increasingly surreal job. She supposed that, as far as coping mechanisms go, his was no less healthy than her drinking.

“Good morning,” she said, making her way to her ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ workspace. Upon reflection, it was odd, disturbing even, that they had repurposed the ancient ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ that had appeared in the depths of the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ into temporary cubicle spaces. Or it would be if she had time for reflection. As it was, she could only spare a sorrowful glance at the static pictures of Ron, Hugo, and Rose smiling up at her from their plastic frames. The nature of the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ environment was fairly unstable, so any items that weren't strictly necessary were muggle in nature. Hermione’s stomach twisted at the thought that the ministry seemed to determine that her family wasn't strictly necessary, but she quickly suppressed it behind her shields.

▓▓▓▓▓▓ took a sip from his cup of coffee. In an earlier phase of their task, before they had known the deadly nature of ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ he had noticed that the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ gave off the perfect ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ which also allowed it to make a passable cup of coffee. Having fresh coffee every morning was little consolation in face of ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ and the likely slow death that would result, but it wasn't nothing. If one squinted and ignored the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ and ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓, the chamber was a fairly passable office.

“I got a fresh cup for you!” he said cheerfully, handing a chipped “I Hate Mondays” mug over to her.

“Thank you, but I had some tea before I time turnered in. I’d just as soon get started.”

▓▓▓▓▓▓ shrugged and slurped his own mug.

“Did you look any further into ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓’s theory into…”

Hermione nodded.

“Yes, I think we should get started on ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ right away.”

As she said this, the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ she was referring to let out an otherworldly shriek behind her. Hermione jumped.

“Yeah, it's still doing that,” ▓▓▓▓▓▓ said, taking another slurp of coffee.

Hermione shuddered.

“You alright?” he asked, compulsory concern etched onto his face.

“What, you mean besides having a ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ under the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ that will likely ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ and then ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ along with all life on earth?” she said dryly.

“Yes.” he slurped. Hermione’s shoulders slumped.

“Ron left last night. He took Hugo with him to the Burrow and probably won't be coming back for a long time.”

“Ah, couldn't figure out a solution for that drinking problem of yours?”

Hermione stared at him.

“Just a little gallows humor, mate!” he said, good naturedly, clapping her on the back. Hermione scowled. She noticed the circles under ▓▓▓▓▓▓’s eyes seemed darker than yesterday.

“One thing at a time then,” he said, “can't have the world end any sooner than necessary!”

She knew ▓▓▓▓▓▓ had a point, but he didn't have to be so bloody glib about it.

Of course, in The Department of Mysteries, there was always time. It was tricky and dangerous, but they had a near limitless supply. Space was a bit more limited, since things that travel through time needed somewhere to go and tend to build up if they got careless, but the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ was a promising discovery on that front. No, the only scarcity to an Unspeakable was sanity.

“Fire up the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ then, won’t you, ▓▓▓▓▓▓?”

▓▓▓▓▓▓ downed the rest of his coffee and pounded the mug onto the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ he was using for a desk.

“Right-o!” he said and moved his fingers to deftly ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ the ▓▓▓▓▓▓. Before he ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ the ▓▓▓▓▓▓, he paused.

“You sure your ready for this, Mrs. Granger-Weasley?”

The ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ let out another horrific shriek.

“Hurry up, won't you? That thing is giving me the creeps.”

“Really? Of everything down here, that is where you draw the line?”

Hermione glared at him. He grinned and ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ into motion.

The whole space flared with a ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓and the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.

“Did we ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓?” Hermione asked, trembling.

“It's too soon to tell, I think. You’d better ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She wasn't stupid. She took the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ to ▓▓▓▓▓▓ and with a deft ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ she was able to ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓. But something had ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓. She had to keep a cool head. They had brainstormed for many eventualities. She didn't remember this particular one, but if she could just get to the manual… “▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓!” she exclaimed, and the room was filled with a temporary ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓, which was enough to ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.

“Well, that was unexpected!” ▓▓▓▓▓▓ said jovially, blood still dripping from ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.

“I don't think the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ will hold long. We need to--” but before she could finish, Hermione was cut off by another piercing shriek. Wordlessly she summoned the manual. With her sudden flare of magic, three things happened simultaneously. First, the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ broke, causing ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ to ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓. While that was  ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓, ▓▓▓▓▓▓ pulled out his ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ and ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ let out a ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓. Unfortunately, this happened right when the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ performed it's 16th rotation, so rather than ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓, it ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓. The chamber ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ forcing them to the floor. They barely had time to react when ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ Hermione shrieked.▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓could only follow ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓spilled everywhere▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓couldn't see▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

 

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓hit the wall ▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓shattered▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ found them ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ but where had he gone?▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓snuck past the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ pulled herself up with her shaking arms ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓Hermione managed to ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ had to stay silent ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ fell and the world went black.

 

***

 

The Department of Mysteries always had time. It was their failsafe if anything went wrong. Hermione found herself awake in one of the makeshift time-turner holding rooms, a vial of memories and pensieve laid next to her cot. Of course, this project was causing them to run out of space, so each time something went wrong, she found herself in increasingly uncomfortable stray corners of the department.

 _Great_ , she thought, ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓’ _s theory on_ ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ _wasn’t the answer_. Her hand trembled as she took out the silvery tendrils with her wand and lowered them into the bowl. For her, tumbling into the memories of her failed attempts was the most terrifying part of the job. She had witnessed the seconds before her own death in more scenarios than she could count.

 _Another day, another dollar_ , she thought, quoting one of disgruntled cats on ▓▓▓▓▓▓’s novelty mugs. She plunged into her duplicate’s memories and began her workday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that wasn't very illuminating on the question I posed in the end notes of the last chapter. That told you nothing about whether or not Hermione and Ron were going to call it quits. Man, fucking mysterious blood monsters in an cubicle thingy in an unknown place and the possible end of the world? That answers nothing! What question am I going to pose this time? "Stay tuned!" says the cat on the mug of tea and stolen brandy that I am slurping quite rudely.


	3. This Could Fix Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I didn't say it last time and I should have: Thank you all so much for the kudos!   
> I'm posting two chapters today. I wanted to post one mid-week, but I didn't get it edited in time. I'm also posting the edited chapter 2, so I guess I got a lot of work done really down to the wire this week.

The latest episode with the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ project had been particularly harrowing. The implications of their failure hadn’t been as catastrophic as some of their previous attempts, but something about it had made it difficult for Hermione to focus on her research. It was a shame, because scouring the Department of Mystery’s vast archives was the only part of her job from which she still derived anything resembling enjoyment. Her work on the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ project meant that she had the highest level of clearance, even higher than the Minister of Magic himself. 

Hermione had developed many methods, both magical and muggle, to help her calm her mind when Occlumency was just too difficult. She had even patented some of them and convinced Ron and George to carry them at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes in a study aid line. They had, of course, complained that this was contrary to their brand, until Hermione pointed out that, while she had studied hard, that never stopped her from getting into mischief. This led to a highly successful ad campaign called “It’s Always the Quiet Ones” geared toward “The Brains”, as they had dubbed their target demographic. Hermione smiled at the memory as she drew a small bottle out of her beaded bag. She studied the familiar image on the front of a child hiding his smirk behind a book while his professor in singed robes yelled at another student who looked like a stereotypical troublemaker and she was momentarily confused when it began to waver as she undid the stopper. Her nose was flooded with its familiar scent of rosemary, cypress, and lemon.

_ Ron _ , she thought,  _ that’s right. Ron left last night and I am starting to cry about it _ .

That was no good. Scent was an important part of how this focus potion worked and, in her present melancholy state, this particular fragrance was conjuring too many memories of her late nights working with Ron and George to work effectively. When this whole ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ project was all over, she would have to let them know about this potential problem with their formulation. She wondered how Professor Snape had manage to live a double life with Occlumency alone; her mind felt taxed. Though he hadn’t been lying to family or friends because he didn’t really have any to speak of. She hated how the thought made her feel a twinge of envy rather than pity.

Of course it got him killed in the end anyway.

She replaced the stopper and turned to her stack of highly classified documents. The tower nearly touched the vaulted ceiling and she hoped her charms would be enough to keep it from collapsing. She had the archivist pull copies of every document that even mentioned the word ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ from not only The Department of Mysteries, but every other department in the ministry. There had to be some precedent for what was happening, even a hint.  ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ didn’t come from nowhere.

She pulled a small, brightly-colored pensieve from her beaded bag. Another of her inventions. It was called a Weasley’s WhyWorry? It was modified so that the top closed with a hinged lid and time-controlled lock. The lid featured an image of the same bookish student, this time smirking at his professor’s singed robes and hair in the aftermath of what was definitely a small explosion. She hated using this tool since it involved tampering with her already sensitive memories, but she didn’t seem to have any options. She was sure if the Ministry of Magic really understood the implications of how the Weasley’s WhyWorry? worked, they would have it pulled from shelves and regulated rather than sold as a child’s novelty. After all they had put her through, she realized she had enough of the smirking student in her to not really care. She took her wand and pulled the tendrils of her memories of the morning’s disaster and the previous night’s heartbreak out through her temple and placed them in garish, cartoon bowl. She then pulled enough details of the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ project out so that she would remember its importance, but not its imperative nature. Better it seem a curiosity than a disaster. Those gone, she set the timer for four hours and got to work.

 

...

 

Hermione knew that her family life was strained. She couldn’t think why, but she knew it had something to do with all of the research she was doing in the archives. She noticed the orange and green Weasley’s WhyWorry? next to her, so she figured it must be bad enough to interfere with her research. The ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ problem was deeply engrossing and she had come up with three potentially workable solutions with 20 minutes still left on the clock. She would have to review it with ▓▓▓▓▓▓ and ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓, of course, but they wouldn’t be available for at least half an hour. She felt she needed their notes if she were going to go about finding a fourth potential solution, so she was left, quite unexpectedly, with some free time. 

She discreetly pulled a thin file from her stack. It was labeled ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▓▓▓▓▓. The contents were useless to her research, as the word ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ had appeared in its euphemistic form (as it had in nearly ⅔ of the stack), but the name on the file had struck her odd and the story it contained was even odder. As she flipped through it for a third time, a plan began to form in her mind. Breaking rules and adventure had gotten her and Ron together in the first place, so she wondered if it could help fix whatever problem the Weasley’s WhyWorry? contained. It seemed to her that following her own curiosity about the strange case the folder detailed could potentially help Harry, Minerva, and a number of other people still scared by the war as well. Glancing around her, she spelled an unregistered copy of the file (one of her privileges as an Unspeakable) and  _ Reductoed _ it into her beaded bag. She discreetly pulled another  _ WhyWorry? _ out of her bag (this one in sparkling purple and lemon yellow), pulled her memory of the file into it, and set the timer to go off that night when she returned home.

_ Idle minds are the devil’s work _ , she thought, though she didn’t know why.

Before she could wonder, her first WhyWorry? timer went off and the memory tendrils flew out of its bowl and wormed their way into her head. She didn’t have time to put up her shields and she collapsed onto her worktable in sobs.

 

…

 

Hermione faced her death three more times that day, in spite of visiting the archive after each one to check and double check their research. Two times were from ▓▓▓▓▓▓’s work, once from her own. Their fourth attempt (from her research) was blessedly non-lethal, but only succeeded in ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓, not ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓. Still, Hermione and ▓▓▓▓▓▓ determined the threat level had been lowered significantly, at least until ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ again. This gave them ample time to prepare multiple contingency plans for their next stage. At that point, the coffee and Wideye potions were flowing like water. 

“Hermione, ▓▓▓▓▓, take a break!” ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ declared, startling the two researchers and eliciting a shriek from the ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ as some of ▓▓▓▓▓▓’s coffee spilled and singed its ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓.

“All’s fair in Love and Purr,” said the cat on the novelty mug as the researchers collected themselves.

“No fair, we were just getting to the good part!” ▓▓▓▓▓▓ joked.

“I'm serious. With all of the other projects going on in the department, we don't have enough space for a respawn in the event that something goes wrong.”

“Surely this takes precedence over other projects,” Hermione protested perfunctorily.

“I saw your reports; the area should be stable for a while. Go home.”

“You look exhausted and that concerns me,” she added, per HR scripting.

Hermione rubbed her temples and she let out a breath, finally able to acknowledge the exhaustion that had been heaping on her shoulders and neck and was painfully making its way down her back and into her legs. ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ didn't have to tell her twice. Hermione handed ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ her report and shuffled toward the door without a word.

“This is unnecessary,” she heard ▓▓▓▓▓▓ say conversationally on the way out between slurps of his coffee, “Didn't you read my report last month? We should be able to more than double the space again if we just...” but she missed the end because, honestly, she just didn't care.

 

…

 

“Back again, Hermione?” Tom asked from behind the counter, his brow knit with concern. Rumors had spread about the trouble in paradise between two-thirds of the Golden Trio and he noticed that she came in alone. Again.

“You talk as if I come here all the time!” Hermione laughed, slightly bewildered. Surely it had been at least a week since she had been to the Leaky Cauldron. Tom chuckled slightly, thinking she was making a joke. She had been there every evening for at least a fortnight.

“The usual, then?” he asked.

She frowned slightly. The man must have an excellent memory if he could know her drink after such long stretches between visits. But she supposed that was his job, and Tom was nothing if not a good bartender.

“Yes, please!” she said, curious what he would choose. She remembered coming here frequently for after-work drinks with Ginny before James was born. Back then the young women had always ordered Apple Kadabras, which had been the Leaky Cauldron’s exclusive new drink at the time. They were really just muggle appletinis with a weak charm that made them shimmer, but they were fun and adult life was hard, so Hermione kept Tom’s little secret.

She was, therefore, mildly surprised when Tom pulled a top-shelf firewhiskey and poured her 2 fingers of it, neat, into a cheap crystal tumbler. He set it on the bar and pushed it toward her, causing the cut crystal to spin refracted rays in a flower on the wooden surface. The fractured patterns on the warped wood triggered her memory like a hypnotic pendulum of a mythical psychoanalyst.

_ Oh _ , she thought numbly as she watched the familiar shimmer, Ron must have left last night. And here she was. Again.

“Shit,” she muttered aloud.

“Want to talk about it?” Tom asked, wiping an identical crystal tumbler with a grey rag, an identical rag tossed over his shoulder. How did the place seem so greasy when he was always wiping things? Hermione wondered.

“Ron left,” she said aloud. She had planned on saying a simple “no”, but the words just fell out.

“I heard,” said Tom, “It was in The Prophet this morning.” He casually wiped down the counter with the rag that had been on his shoulder. Hermione’s eye twitched a little as she couldn't help but notice that it wasn't getting any cleaner. She quickly occluded her perplexion before he could notice her rude staring.

“Was it?” she said, somewhat alarmed. Even after all of these years, she still hadn't gotten used to the speed at which The Daily Prophet seemed to be able to pry out details of her private life.

“Look, I get a lot of you Unspeakables in here,” said Tom, “Believe it or not, you seem to be handling yourself better than most. You just have the misfortune of a high profile.” Hermione stared at her untouched glass.

Years before, she had been irate that her employers hadn’t done more to help keep baseless speculation about her personal life out of the papers. She had thought it surely must reflect as poorly on them as it did on her. After a particularly nasty article was printed following her hen party (accompanied by some unflattering photographs) she had burst into her supervisor’s office and demanded to know why the department wasn’t interfering on her behalf as she knew they had done for many other employees. Her supervisor had argued that it was good for the public to be distracted by Hermione’s home life since it kept speculation away from her work life. The Department of Mysteries had taken a risk in promoting such a public figure into a position that demanded so much secrecy and anonymity. 

She wondered if the department was feeding the press any personal information that she revealed to her coworkers. For a while, she stopped saying anything about her personal life at all, but the articles came out anyway. Eventually she decided she prefered offering the information herself under the guise of friendly conversation. Like she had with the empathy scripting, Hermione discovered she prefered the illusion. They seemed to appreciate her occasional candid comments as well, and she learned that they didn’t care if it were true so long as it sold papers and redirected the public’s attention. 

She wished this story were another of her fabrications.

“You're a strong woman,” said Tom, “if there’s a way to get him back, you’ll find it.”

Hermione said nothing, just picked up the tumbler and downed the whiskey in one go. She was so tired of being strong.

 

Two hours and four glasses of firewhiskey later, she flooed back to her empty house from the Leaky Cauldron. Upon her arrival, a strange tendril of silver flew out of her bag and wriggled its way into her head. She giggled at her forgotten cleverness.

“That’s right!” she said merrily, tripping out of the hearth as she dug through her bag, “I'll show those Ministry fucks. Think they can mess with people's families!” She pulled out the file.

_ Octavilla Snape _ it said in neat script.

Yes, she thought through her firewhiskey haze, this was in no way a dumb idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I just want to clarify from my previous end notes: I did not actually steal the brandy. I was cat sitting and the owners said that I could have all the tea and booze I wanted. I decided that should then mean that I put some liquor in the tea. It was... not that good, to be honest. Maybe because I threw some St. Germain in as well? I'm more of a coffee and bourbon kinda person. Though the blackcurrant tea with the violet liqueur was very nice. Why do people trust me with their animals? Or anything? STAY TUNED!


	4. What Does That Even Mean?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione enlists help for her... er... well... scheme. Its not so brilliant, is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one!  
> Thanks to ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ for editing this and the previous chapter. Gosh, I wish he would get his darn account so I can actually put his name in.

“This has got to be the worst, most insane idea you’ve ever had,” Harry whispered, “I can’t believe you stole this from The Department of Mysteries! Also, are you drunk?”  
Hermione had flooed him an urgent message not an hour ago to meet her at the Leaky Cauldron. Having determined that she was not, in fact, facing an emergency, he’d listened to her hair-brained idea anyway for the past 15 minutes and was growing concerned that his friend had gone completely mental.  
“Shhh. I maybe was already here after work, but I promise you--I promise you, Harry--I didn't have any firewhiskey when I found this at work.”  
“Hermione, do you know what kind of trouble you could get in for showing me this, what I could get in for seeing it without proper clearance?”  
“C’mon, Harry, we used to break the rules all the time!”  
“That was as kids. In school. And, well, in war time. But this is completely different.”  
“All’s fair in love and purr, Harry.”  
“WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN!?”  
“Shhh! Keep it down,” she slurred, “Do you want to draw attention to us?”  
“I'm Harry Potter. I kind of attract attention.”  
“What I’m trying to say is that it is all school and war, Harry. Or at least it's not different. Not really. Everyday life is full of just as much pettiness and horror as it ever was. The only difference is that we now have the responsibility to decide which is which.”  
“What does that have to do with stealing the file?” he hissed.  
“Don't you want to know what she is like?” Hermione asked. “Don't you want to know if the Ministry made the right decision? Or, well, don't you just want to see if she looks like him? If she’s anything like him? If she was able to be happy?”  
Harry was silent a moment. He stole a glance at the document in front of him.  
Octavilla Snape, it said, born to Tobias Snape and Eileen Prince, date unknown. She had been found as an infant during an auror raid after the second Wizarding War. The problem was that Eileen had been unable to bear children for years following an injury ostensibly caused by Tobias’ abuse. And Eileen and Tobias were dead. The baby was not dead, but she seemed to have somehow become suspended in time so that she did not grow or eat or sleep; she merely lay and watched through her foggy infant eyes, sometimes opening and closing her mouth, sometimes wiggling her fingers and toes, but never making a sound.  
She was an anomaly with such bizarre and disturbing magical implications that, after a year-long stay in St. Mungos, she was transferred to The Department of Mysteries and her discovery was covered up.  
A covert Auror investigation had gleaned that her mother had abandoned the child. It was unclear whether she meant to protect the girl from the violence perpetrated against her and her then young son Severus, or if she worried that they would all starve if they had another mouth to feed. Whatever the reason, she did something that kept her daughter from dying that night, either on purpose or accident. The nature of Eileen’s spell, or accident, remained a mystery to the present day and nothing quite like it had been seen before or since.  
After another five years of study, the department was able to reverse the twisted magic, and the child began to wail. Finding that the young girl possessed no innate magic of her own, the Ministry made a choice. Her brother was a hero, but he was dead. They found that Tobias Snape had some relations far away in America who had just lost a child of their own. After assessing that they had not inherited Tobias’ violent tendencies, they made some slight memory modifications and she was seamlessly inserted into the couple's life. The Department had kept tabs on her through her eleventh birthday in the event that she were to manifest any magical traits, but she was the squib she was expected to be. For all the world, she would seem a normal girl with no ties to anything mysterious or magical at all. 

“Don't you feel like knowing would somehow fix something in us all, however small?” Hermione continued after Harry didn't reply for a while.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “But you know I'm going to have to tell Ginny.”

...

“I'm in,” the redheaded woman declared, pounding her glass of pumpkin juice onto the kitchen table.

“But we haven't even told you what we’re doing!” Harry protested. He had no idea why he thought that Ginny might be the voice of reason.  
“Hermione stole something from the Department of Mysteries. What more do I need to convince me?”  
“Keep your voice down! Lily might hear you!”  
“Oh posh, she sleeps like the dead.”  
“That makes one of us,” Harry muttered.  
“So what are we doing? Investigating a prophecy? Hunting down an ancient artifact? Fighting a dragon? TO STEAL A PROPHESIED ANCIENT ARTIFACT?”

“Hmm,” said Hermione, realizing her plan seemed a little lame compared to Ginny’s imagination. “We're actually going to find Professor Snape’s secret sister who was trapped in a mysterious stasis field that kept her from aging for about 40 years so that she is now around 10 years younger than us and, uh, see what she’s up to.” 

Ginny’s eyes went wide.  
“Cool!” And then then her smile faded a little.  
“Have you told Ron?”  
“Well, there is still a lot of preparation work and he just left… last night?” Harry and Ginny frowned at the question.  
“Anyway,” Hermione continued, “I think I need to give him some time. See if this will help me keep sober for a bit.” This last part she said in almost a whisper. It was the first time she had acknowledged her problem to her friends.  
Harry and Ginny each put a hand on Hermione’s shoulders and gave her supportive smiles.  
“I wonder what she’s going to be like,” Ginny said. “I wonder if she'll be as mean and nasty as him.”  
“Whatever her personality, I bet she’s wicked smart,” said Harry. 

That night was Hermione’s first restful sleep in, well, she couldn't really say. As she drifted off, she muttered her wish for Octavilla Snape as if it were a prayer:  
“Octavilla, I hope you are successful and happy. Your brother went through so much pain. We all did. I hope you have used your opportunities well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Hermione's scheme bring everyone together or is she just inventing a project to avoid her problems? Why are Harry and Ginny so willing to go along with this insanity? How is Ron holding up, the poor man? Is Octavilla Snape smart and using her time wisely? ONE OF THESE QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERED IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! STAY TUNED!


End file.
